Spellwright

Again he tried to name the feeling. But the words in his heart mashed themselves into a small, spiny ball and jammed themselves into his throat.

He was choking on a jagged mass of the words “loss” and “gratitude,” “desperation” and “relief,” “fear” and “awe.”

He was choking on the sharp knowledge that he was slowly dying.

“Maybe it’s heartburn from drinking my horse sweat stew,” said Nicodemus.

Shannon laughed and decided that the best word for the strange emotion in his chest was “love.”

He looked at his student. The boy had become a man, and in him Shannon saw a flickering potential that just might grow strong enough to give the world hope.

Nicodemus looked back at Shannon. His young face was lit by several incandescent paragraphs. The bright words had illuminated his smile with soft white light and, by contrast, filled his dark eyes with a joyful, sparkling black.